


A Regretful Heart

by ktbl



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Crueltide, Dubious Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire, Kinda happy anyway, Light Masochism, M/M, Manipulation, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Physical Abuse, Power Imbalance, Restraints, Serious Injuries, Unhealthy Relationships, dead dove do not eat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: Ryuzo is ready to do anything to keep his Straw Hats safe and fed during the Mongol invasion of Tsushima. He finds he pays the cost in unexpected ways, and is left to wonder if the price may have been just too much.
Relationships: Jin Sakai/Yuna, Khotun Khan/Ryuzo (Ghost of Tsushima), Ryuzo & Jin Sakai & Yuna
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	A Regretful Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Floranna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floranna/gifts).



> This is a Crueltide fic (picking the recip's opt-in for that): it's not warm and fuzzy. Do not expect warm and fuzzy. The tags list is as accurate as I could get it; please choose your reading accordingly.

All Jin made were empty promises, and they echoed through Ryuzo’s head as he watched the erstwhile Sakai heir flee. Lord Shimura would make him samurai. Would feed his men. Would be a just and kind lord.

Ryuzo knew better. Lord Shimura would do nothing for the Straw Hats, landless and classless men all; he would take advantage of them, just as Jin had taken advantage of Ryuzo’s desperation for his own gains. Jin hadn’t left him a choice; this was the only option Ryuzo had left to him.

The fires of frustration and an aching sense of betrayal burned low and hot in Ryuzo’s belly. There had to be a better way to get what he needed. There had to be a better way to make sure his people were had food, had a roof over their head, and maybe - if they were very, very lucky - coin in their pockets.

Ryuzo swallowed down the acid taste of bile and pride and went in search of Khotun Khan.

He hadn’t known what to expect when he found the leader of the Mongol invasion and offered his service, but this had not been it. Ryuzo’s body crawled with shame and humiliation. He knew his skin flushed red for everyone to see. It was like having a hundred worms gnawing in his belly, slithering under his skin. Prostrating himself in front of the muscled, massive Mongolian invader in the main hall of Castle Kaneda, Ryuzo seethed as the Khan spoke.

“And you swear your service to me - and the Great Khan, Kublai - and that you will serve us with properly, with our best interests in mind?”

Khotun’s Japanese was only ever-so-slightly accented, enough to show he’d put effort into the learning. Ryuzo’s own lack of any grasp of the Mongol tongue was all too evident as he listened to the susurrations of talk around him, the hall not quite quiet as it waited for an answer. Betray his countrymen, his friends? No - it wasn’t betrayal. It was a contract. The Straw Hats were ronin, and he was their leader, and this was what he had to do in order to protect them. Responsibility demanded he do it for his men, whatever it took.

He shifted back, sitting up on his thighs properly in seiza, resting lightly on his heels. This was what he had to do to survive.

“I do.”

“Good.” A smile crossed Khotun’s face, cheeks going round like plums and his eyes narrowing, crinkling in the corners with what might have been genuine pleasure. “And your men? Where are they?”

“When there is food for them - I will bring it to them, and tell them of the arrangement.” Ryuzo dared the Khan to argue with him, meeting the man’s dark gaze with his own. Khotun’s expression shifted lightning-fast, going flat with a hint of anger.

“And what assurance do I have they will not attack while you are here with me? Or that you will flee when you have food for them?”

“I am a man of my word.” Ryuzo licked lips gone dry with nervousness he couldn’t risk showing. To one side, he heard one of the Mongolian dogs growl low in its throat, and a man cuff it roughly to silence.

“You provide me a service, your men will be fed.” Khotun Khan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his armored thighs. “You haven’t provided a service yet. Your men don’t get food.”

“Then what service do you want me to provide? Information about the man working against you, his allies? Something else you can use against Lord Shimura? Where the food stores are?” Ryuzo blinked and let his words trail away into silence as Khotun’s bright eyes watched him. “What more do you want?”

Khotun Khan didn’t answer, and Ryuzo’s stomach dropped down and keep plummeting into his feet, and then ground below. There was something he didn’t like in the Mongol’s face, the kind of look that said he knew he was the biggest predator, the most dangerous thing in the forest. Something in that dangerous, confident look made Ryuzo’s heart stutter before picking up into a rapid pounding, a pursued hare trapped in his chest.

The Mongol rose up from his throne and smiled. “Come along, little wolf, and find out.”

He froze in place, all his joints and limbs locked with the sight of that dangerous smile. Khotun’s implication was clear, and Ryuzo forced the panic down from his chest. He had a duty to his men - he was no samurai, but he took their welfare seriously.

Khotun turned, the room falling silent at the dark look that crossed his face and the way his.

“I expect obedience. Come with me, or your men will be dead far sooner than they would be if they were to starve.”

Ryuzo stood, holding his head high, and desperately trying to ignore the sudden explosion of murmurs as he did.

“What do you want?” Ryuzo swallowed. He had a suspicion what the Mongol was after, as they headed deeper into Castle Kaneda. Boards creaked underfoot and Khotun pushed a shoji screen aside into one of the inner chambers. It struck him as markedly Mongol, almost like the inside of one of their felt-walled yurts. The wooden walls were decorated with Mongol banners, and rugs and furs scattered across the floor. The Japanese sleeping mats had been replaced by a wooden-framed Mongol bed, strewn with more furs.

Ryuzo slid the screen shut behind him, and even that delicate gesture had an uncanny finality to it. Khotun’s eyes ranged across him hungrily, and once more Ryuzo felt like he had bitten off more than he could chew. For my men, he reminded himself. All of it for the Straw Hats. It was worth it if it would get them fed.

He and Jin had fooled around as boys, but Jin had been a friend, and it had been mutual nervousness that turned to cocky pride and teenage arrogance. Even with his Straw Hats, anything had been mutual, and though some had paired up, it was uncommon.

“You’ll serve me as I deem fit,” Khotun said almost amiably. “As always, if you are fair with me, I will be fair with you. Fight me, and you will regret it.”

Ryuzo considered it, knew it must be visible across his face. But Khotun was bigger than he was, and there were dozens - if not hundreds - of men in Castle Kaneda and just outside it. Weakened by lack of food and fighting, Ryuzo would be little match for them. His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips without thinking. Khotun’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“This is your choice,” the Mongol continued, and it was like a punch to the gut for Ryuzo, or a blade slicing into his skin. Ryuzo had to will it - had to _agree_ \- to this bargain. “If you make a poor choice, it’s only you and your men who will suffer. Empty bellies.”

He _had_ to do it. Had to, for the Straw Hats.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Come here.” Khotun’s broad fingers beckoned Ryuzo closer, and then one hand pushed down on his shoulders, forcing him down onto his knees.

“You want-“ Ryuzo’s mouth froze half-open, unable to speak.

“I’ve learned your people have many words to describe it. Some of the women have spoken in such a way that I wouldn’t even know what they were describing, so unwilling to say it.” Khotun snorted, fingers working at the latches on the heavy metal belt around his hips. He divested himself quickly of the decorative armor, and Ryuzo’s knees began to feel the hard wood beneath the rug. He caught himself shifting, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. There may have been a flash of humor across the Mongolian man’s face, but if it was, it vanished just as quickly.

“Open,” Khotun said with that same amiable tone, the one that expected obedience. Ryuzo hesitated, mind not quite ready to make the leap. He had a brief moment of regret, unsure if he could do what was asked.

Pain flashed angry and hard across his face, stinging and knocking his head hard enough to make him see stars for a moment. Ryuzo jerked back from the sudden, unexpected blow.

“What was that for?”

“To remind you of your place.” Khotun looked down, mouth curved in a frown. Ryuzo went hot with shame and anger both, felt his body tensing to push up off the floor. Then, another slap across the other side of his face, skin stinging with the blow. Khotun made a soft sound; Ryuzo wasn’t certain if it was a huff of amusement or annoyance. “And that was because I wanted to.”

That was how it would be, then.

“You’ll be the mare to my stallion,” Khotun said with that same tone. “Now, open. Your service to me earns your men full bellies tonight.”

Heat began to build low in Ryuzo’s core, and he would be damned if he could figure out whether it was shame or something else. There was no kindness here, nor any mutual expectation of satisfaction or fulfillment.

Khotun’s mouth opened, and Mongolian spilled from his lips. None of it had a pleasing tone, all of it sounding angry, like a pack of wolves or the pounding of hooves. He drove himself in and out of Ryuzo’s mouth with callous disregard. A heavy hand closed on the back of Ryuzo’s head, fisting in his hair and holding him in place. Ryuzo choked and gagged at the constant intrusion, but managed to collect his thoughts as the Mongol’s pace steadied and found a rough but steady rhythm. He didn’t have to do much - and he was grateful for that, in some twisted way - and closed his eyes to think of anything but the sight of the rich fabrics and rutting man in front of him.

His mouth was stretched almost painfully wide and the hand on his head hurt, pulling at his hair and holding him in place or forcing him down harder onto Khotun’s shaft until Ryuzo’s nostrils were full of the scent of musk and man and arousal. He nearly choked, tears burning hot tracks down his face and spit a trail from the corner of his lips. Khotun’s pace increased, hips jerking forward and driving himself into Ryuzo’s mouth harder and harder. A hint of bitter, salty fluid coursed over Ryuzo’s tongue, and his stomach churned. The warmth low in his body grew, and he shifted his position once more to find comfort.

He choked and gagged again - though not because of the cock working between his lips - when he realized the discomfort between his thighs was his own erection. His own cock, going half-hard and beginning to rise for its own pleasure. Ryuzo let out a low groan against his will, and it seemed just the sound to satisfy the Khan before him. Both of Khotun’s hands fisted in Ryuzo’s hair, and his hips lost their rhythm, snapping hard towards Ryuzo. The salt-bitter taste filled Ryuzo’s mouth as the Mongol let out a low and guttural cry, cock jerking in Ryuzo’s mouth, against his tongue. One of Khotun’s hands drifted down Ryuzo’s face before clenching at his nose, holding his nostrils shut. Desperate to breathe, Ryuzo swallowed, mouth working against Khotun’s cock. The Khan shuddered and let out another low moan of pleasure, and then freed Ryuzo’s head from his grasp.

“Not bad,” Khotun said, petting Ryuzo like one of the guard dogs they kept. He tucked himself away into his loose trousers again, folding the long overrode back down. “I will send word your men are to be given rice tonight.”

Ryuzo nodded wordlessly, the taste lingering on his tongue and the guilt and embarrassment throughout his body. There was not enough sake in Castle Kaneda - on the whole of Tsushima - to wipe the taste or memory from his mind and mouth.

Khotun stormed into the hall of Castle Shimada, reeking of blood and smoke and fermented mare’s milk. Seated with some of his Straw Hats and eating rice and fish, Ryuzo was halfway into his cups and trying to think of anything but the way he had set one of his countrymen aflame to earn this food. The screams haunted his waking ears, and ran through his sleeping mind with abandon.

The warlord pointed a finger at Ryuzo and snarled something in Mongolian. Ryuzo caught the looks exchanged between several of the Straw Hats, and one tipped his head towards Khotun.

“He looks like he’s in a sour mood.”

“Save some sake for me,” Ryuzo replied, pushing himself up off the tatami. “I’ll need it.”

“You don’t have to-“ one began. Ryuzo shook his head, holding up a hand. He couldn’t stomach the pity, or the way he was sure they’d begun to look at him, consider him, and the cost he was paying. How little fight he seemed to be putting up in paying that cost.

“I do.” Ryuzo looked down at the small cluster of men he’d been talking with. “It’s my responsibility.” He turned away from them with a half-nod, heading unerringly towards the chambers Khotun had claimed in the depths of Castle Shimura. They had taken the castle a handful of days ago, but his feet knew where to go, and they carried him quickly, with a sickening sense of anticipation.

Khotun was violent when it suited him - all the Mongols were - but in the days Ryuzo had passed in their company, he had never been cruel out of sheer malice.

“Strip,” the Khan growled. The low, rough voice made the hairs on Ryuzo’s neck rise up and his heartbeat quicken. He found his body obeying the order before his mind could stop it. The realization made his skin crawl as he unbound his belt, folding his clothing and setting it all neatly on one of the delicately carved wooden tables to one side.

Ryuzo felt movement behind him, and then a bloom of heat that announced the Mongol’s presence right behind him. Ryuzo inhaled deeply, a shuddering breath through a too-tight chest, lungs that wouldn’t work properly.

He lost that breath a moment later as Khotun knocked him to the floor. A well-placed knee and a twist of motion sent Ryuzo tumbling down to the floor, giving him a mouthful of furs. He sputtered and tried to push himself up, but felt Khotun’s weight straddling him, holding him down in place.

“Your friend,” Khotun growled, “killed a dozen of my soldiers today.”

Khotun’s hands were on Ryuzo’s back, pulling his arms behind him and twisting them. Hot like firebrands, the Mongol’s fingertips ran down Ryuzo’s arms to the wrists. He grabbed both of Ryuzo’s hands and held them in place with one of his own. A new sensation took hold and Ryuzo couldn’t help but buck his hips up against the bulkier man and try to free himself. He would _not_ be bound, he could not be bound - and yet that was precisely what was happening, the pricking fibers of the rope digging into his wrists. Khotun slapped a hand down against Ryuzo’s shoulder, chastening.

“He’s not my friend any more.” Ryuzo craned his head over his shoulder to watch the Khan. His heartbeat picked up, pulse pounding harder at the prospect of what was to come. “He hasn’t been my friend for a long time.”

“You should have killed him. Twice, you were given that task to do, and twice you’ve failed.” Khotun’s voice was low and even, laden with anger. He stood up, the heat and weight of him vanishing. Suddenly cold, Ryuzo caught the small groan of dismay back in his mouth, refusing to let it go.

He turned his head sideways, unable to get his legs under him enough to rise up of his own accord. His shoulders were bent back just on the wrong side of comfortable, the muscles of his chest stretching awkwardly. He could see the Khan hunting through one of the small chests for something, and caught the sound of ceramic clattering against itself. He hoped the man was hunting for oil, but given the way the Khan was behaving, the way he was seething with anger, Ryuzo wouldn’t bet on it.

Khotun’s preparations were barely worth noting, a thick finger slicked with oil probing at Ryuzo, pressing inside him with little grace or patience. The burn and pressure made Ryuzo groan, body pulling away instinctively from the intrusion. One of Khotun’s hands seized his hip, hauling him back forcibly.

“Earn it,” the man hissed, and Ryuzo felt his stomach twist and knot. The one finger turned to two and Ryuzo squeezed his eyes shut as the fingers were removed, forcing himself to relax. It was easier if he relaxed - maybe even welcomed it. There was pleasure too, within the pain; all he had to do was give himself over to it.

Khotun worked him over viciously, the deliberate way he moved and held Ryuzo in place, kept him pinned and yielding. Everything was just barely the wrong side of good, like the first few times he wore new sandals and they hadn’t yet formed to his feet. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t comfortable yet.

Pain spiked through him as Khotun’s fingers dug into Ryuzo’s back, dragging down with blunt and slightly jagged nails, streaking fire across his skin. It hurt, but damn him, it felt _good_. There was a half-snarled laugh from the man behind him, fist reaching up and yanking on Ryuzo’s hair. It had never felt good, but tonight there was something about it that sent a shock of pleasure straight through him to his core. Sharp but good, and he felt liquid heat building low in his body.

Long minutes later, sweaty and sticky beneath the driving, angry thrusting of Khotun, Ryuzo ached. He found himself desperate with the need to come, his body contorting with want and his cock straining for a touch. With every thrust that drove him into the bed, Khotun stroked over something inside him that sent shocks of pleasure through Ryuzo’s body. He could feel his face going red with blood, shame rising high in his cheeks. It didn’t stop his cock from leaking pearly fluid, rubbing painfully against the furs beneath him on the floor. He ached, but it had gone past pain and into some kind of mingled pain-pleasure, nerves jolting with every thrust, every scratch and ache of his bound wrists and twisted shoulders.

Khotun smirked, eyes narrowed to slits and his own body flush with blood. His chest rose and fell in shuddering breaths, hands gripping hard on Ryuzo’s thighs and holding him in place. Ryuzo was bound - no matter how he writhed, how he squirmed, it only made the man behind him hold tighter and drive in deeper. It was as if he savored Ryuzo’s discomfort - and worse, something burned hot in Ryuzo that made him enjoy it, too. His body wanted this, and maybe - since he was _bound_ , since Khotun had him at his mercy - he could allow himself to enjoy it.

He didn’t have a choice.

No, Ryuzo corrected himself, a moan working his way through his lips and muffled against the floor. He _had_ a choice. He had allowed this to happen, and he was finding his own twisted pleasure in it.

Khotun’s hips stuttered, breaking the steady rhythm, and his last thrusts jerked once-twice-thrice in hard succession, pushing just over that place in Ryuzo that sparked such pleasure. He felt Khotun’s cock jerk within him, the twitching and heat and the throaty groan that meant he’d spilled his seed. Ryuzo craned his head sideways to catch another glimpse of Khotun’s face. The Mongol’s eyes were dark and glassy, and he had a haunting look of malicious glee on his face. He pulled out and slid in one more time, and Ryuzo’s core knotted with humiliation and bliss both.

Pleasure burst through him against his will, his hips trying to push upwards against the Mongol’s hold wantonly, cock jerking against the furs and Ryuzo’s stomach alike. He let out a low rough cry of mixed shame and perhaps pleasure.

“Look at that.” Khotun’s voice was silk over a blade, a sweet plum gone sour when tasted. “You’ve spilled yourself for me without even a touch.” Khotun finally withdrew, and slid off the bed and turned his back to Ryuzo, discounting him entirely as a threat. The heated flush of Ryuzo’s skin deepened with that, and Ryuzo squirmed against the rasping of the rope and the tension in his muscles.

When Khotun had cleaned himself up and redressed - and only then - he untied Ryuzo. Ryuzo rubbed at his wrists, the places where skin had gone red and raw from the rope and his own writhing.

He hated this, the ways Khotun had found to rouse his body against his will. Worse, Ryuzo realized, he had begun to _enjoy_ this, the physical pleasure that had begun to come with the Khan’s rough treatment and almost perfunctory attentions. That anticipatory pounding of his heartbeat hadn’t just been fear.

Ryuzo swallowed back the acid bile, and barely made it to a window in time to heave his guts out at the realization.

“He’s coming, your friend.”

“I know.” Ryuzo swallowed down yet another pull of sake from the gourd. He wiggled it in his fingers, hearing the liquid slosh within; half-full, maybe. Not empty enough for what he wanted. He wanted to be drunk, all his ability to think - or to care about the consequences - gone. He tipped his head back against the wall and watched Khotun dress, layering on his armor. Ryuzo was still sticky from sex, the rough red marks around his wrists rising up in welts. Since the first time with ropes some days ago, Khotun had taken to tying up Ryuzo every chance he got. It was easier for Ryuzo to lose himself in the sex, to allow himself that pleasure commingled with the humiliation, and Khotun seemed to revel in Ryuzo’s discomfiture. His dark eyes would glitter with predatory pleasure, and Ryuzo would fill with lust and shame and every orgasm was better than the last.

He couldn’t hate himself in the moment, but he had resolved to allow himself this, the physical pleasure, when it was for a better cause. The fate of his men were balanced on his ability to earn their food. Sometimes it was burning their countrymen at the stake to convince a castle to open; sometimes it was letting himself be used by the invaders.

He took another drink of sake from the gourd, watching the Mongol arm himself.

“If you wish to live,” Khotun offered, slowly and thoughtfully, “you should get to the ships.”

“The ships? Why?”

“I would not be surprised if the Ghost does something unpredictable. I have ordered them ready to sail. The outcome of my fight with him will determine where they sail.” Khotun swung the heavy fur cloak over his shoulders. “You have earned your Straw Hats’ food - and some benefit for yourself besides. Do not waste it.”

Ryuzo took another drink from the gourd. He knew what was coming, the words unsaid. Khotun Khan would win his fight against Jin, crushing the last of the resistance and grinding Tsushima under his heel. Ryuzo had become be the Khan’s tamed wolf, his ronin maintaining Mongol order on Tsushima while they moved to the mainland. Ryuzo would forever be the collaborator - maybe he would have rank within the Mongols, but too many knew he’d been playing the doe to Khotun’s stag, and the people of Tsushima would never accept him even if he claimed it had all been under duress. The alternative was too unpleasant to think about: Khotun dead, and then Ryuzo himself either killed by the Mongols or by his own countrymen.

It was easier to drown himself in the rough taste of the shit-quality sake and try not to think about it. Better if he pulled out is sword and died on his own blade, but he was too much a coward for that.

“I’ll think about it,” he said instead, and that seemed to be enough for the Khan. The man grunted, finished settling his equipment, and walked out of the room.

Ryuzo took his time dressing, trying to make himself as presentable as he could manage with the reek of sweat and sex still on him. He finished the gourd of sake, and closed his eyes. This was the time to make the right decision, as difficult as it was.

He called the remaining Straw Hats to him, and told them to fight as their own consciences told them to; he was heading for one of the warships, to continue to intercede with them with the Mongols.

“Why?” One of them asked, bluntly. “Now’s the time - honestly, Ryuzo-san… Now’s the time to get away. Claim you died, take a new name and go somewhere, anywhere, else. We can all do it. If the Ghost wins and they find you-“

“I can handle the Ghost,” Ryuzo interrupted. “This is my duty as your leader, to see you fed and cared for. I won’t demand you fight for the Mongols when you may have the opportunity to improve your own lot. I don’t want to take you down with me if this goes badly. What you do tonight is on your own conscience.”

Ryuzo hoped there was enough sake to see him through his own crisis of conscience. He watched as the men scattered, collecting their equipment and arming themselves - no one would want to be caught unarmed tonight, no matter the decision they made. Even if they weren’t visibly armed, as long as he left them to fight as their own consciences dictated, that was the best he could do. Every parent had to let their children go some time, as painful as it was.

He took his time to fill a sack with as many gourds of sake as he could. Carefully, Ryuzo made his way through the massing Mongol fighters towards the warships, and then slowly into one of the inner chambers. He proceeded to get himself thoroughly drunk, pacing himself carefully to not vomit everything up and lose all his effort. No matter how hard he steeled himself, he could not find it in himself to fight his own people, not at Khotun’s back. He had as much as told the Straw Hats to abandon him and save themselves - and he knew that if Jin saw him, he had no hope of surviving a heartbeat longer than Khotun does. There were barely enough sake to get him into the foggy state that his cowardice demanded, where he couldn’t focus on anything.

That was when the burning began.

The shrieks and shouting outside had been expected, so he’d paid little attention to them. The slow and steady increase of heat in the inner room of the warship had been easy to pass off as nervousness, drunkenness, fear. Easy to ignore, until the screaming changed tone, and the colors changed, the darkness beginning to flicker shades of orange and yellow and red, like a hundred thousand tongues looking for him, yōkai come to torment him. Ryuzo flung the screen of the door back, and saw the tongues of fire devouring the ship, inching inwards and licking up the draperies, sliding along the walls and the bamboo rods and wooden arrows.

Everything he’d expected, everything he’d prepared himself for, had been people. Not fire.

Ryuzo retreated back into the room, steadying his pounding heartbeat and stuttering breaths. Was this it - what he’d been waiting for? Could he simply sit and wait and let the fire consume him, breathe in the smoke and be at peace?

He was still weighing it in his drunken state when flames started snaking beneath the door, and he realized that he could _not_. Ryuzo wrapped himself in a woolen blanket - everything the damned Mongols had came from horses or the sheep they boasted of - and pushed himself out of the room, into the searing heat and smoke. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the irritation. It should be a fairly straight shot out the door, he knew; out, and then into the open air of the deck, and he could leap off the ship into the water. He could swim, enough.

There was a hideous crack and he opened his eyes. Decking collapsed above him, blocking off the doorway as beams crashed down. He spun back and they missed him by a handsbreath. The fires inside the cabin, invigorated by the burst of air, leapt higher. Tendrils caught onto Ryuzo’s hakama and jacket, lapping at the alcohol-spattered garments. His eyes searched for a way to escape. He wasn’t going to be trapped here.

There was another sickening sound as more beams collapsed, showering embers from the upper deck down onto his face and across his robes. Pain seared through him, and Ryuzo thought no more.

He roused from the depths of pain to the sound of voices. The pain screamed through his body, almost drowning everything else out, but he felt like he _knew_ those voices, enough to draw him to consciousness.

“Get over here.” A woman’s voice, quiet but demanding.

“What is it?” A man’s voice, curious.

“This one.” There was a sudden presence by him. “The burns are bad - but I think he’s alive, his chest keeps moving. It looks-“

“Ryuzo.” That was definitely Jin. He would know that voice even on his deathbed. Ryuzo tried to say something but he couldn’t even get his mouth to open, the mere thought sending more searing sensations shrieking through his body. “You get one side, I’ll get the other, we’re getting him out of here.”

“If it is - if it’s _Ryuzo_ … He betrayed you, he tried to kill you! And you’ve heard the stories of what he did. Better to leave him here.”The woman’s voice was angry and surprised.

“He’s still my friend, and he did what he did out of need for his people. We’ve - we’ve all done things we thought we had to do, for someone else. We’re getting him out of here, bringing him home.”

He felt arms on both sides, lifting him up. He screamed at the pressure on his burns, and felt one set of hands pull away. The other didn’t, easing him down again.

“He’s burned - _pfaugh_ , look at this. We’ll need a litter to get him out of here. And lots of honey against infection, and clean cloths, and… I’ll go find something. We won’t be able to take him by horse. He’ll die on the way.” Yuna’s voice, moving away. Jin felt the hands on him, one of them seeking out his unburned fingers. “Are you serious about this, Jin?”

“Yes.” Jin’s voice was close, and he squeezed Ryuzo’s fingertips. “I’ll stay here with him until you’re ready, or you need my help. But if he wakes up, or he can hear things - he needs to know he’s not alone.”

Yuna muttered something under her breath, and Ryuzo heard her footsteps fade away.

He tried to open his mouth, and it hurt. He could feel his lips cracking open, parched and dry between the fire and however long he had been on the beach. “Jin?”

“Ryuzo!” Surprise, maybe a little shock. “I’m right here.” Jin’s voice was serious and soft.

“Dying.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I thought I’d killed you once already, but here you are.” Jin chuckled, the sound strained and tight, and another gentle squeeze on Ryuzo’s fingertips. “I really shouldn’t have expected differently, you’re so stubborn. But with Yuna’s healing skills - and if Norio can get any of the monks that remain who can heal you… We’ll get you well again, Ryuzo.”

Did he want to live? Should he? With everything he’d done - been Khotun Khan’s bedwarmer, the Japanese he’d helped slaughter, the way everything he’d done to debase himself for his Straw Hats had done _nothing_ … He tried to open his eyes to look at Jin, but couldn’t manage to see anything. The pain at the attempt was excruciating, and drove him back into the anguished depths of unconsciousness.

“Your heart is too big.”

The words were soft, and annoyed, and feminine.

“Damn it, Jin - we can’t keep trying this. It’s been a week. He’s a mess. It’s a blessing from the kami we’ve kept everything from going to rot so far.”

“That’s why we’ve had the monks,” came Jin’s voice from very close by. “Their medicines, and the honey… and your patience.”

Ryuzo tried to move an arm, but pain shot through him at the attempt. He tried to open his eyes, but they seemed stuck shut. More pain coursed through his body as he tried to shift.

“Your heart is too big,” the woman accused again, but with a sort of sighed resignation. “Get me the pot with broth, and add more seaweed to it. He needs all we can get into him if he’s going to get through this.”

“My heart is as big as it needs to be.” There were rustling sounds, and then Ryuzo felt the movement of air across his skin. It hurt, in an indescribable way, and he hissed through his teeth.

“Jin! He’s awake.”

“Ryuzo?” Jin’s voice, close, the brush of his fingers on one of Ryuzo’s shoulders. “Can you hear me? Can you talk?”

“Hurts.”

“You’re burned, badly,” Jin said. Ryuzo thought he might have heard eagerness in Jin’s voice. “You must have been caught in the fighting in the Bay-“

Ryuzo didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure he could say more than a single word, so he tried to wiggle his fingers again, and managed enough.

“Move, Jin. Unless you want to feed him? I’ll prepare another batch of poultices and medicine.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Can’t see,” Ryuzo managed through thick, sore lips.

“Your eyes are bandaged. You were burned,” Jin repeated, and Ryuzo felt a hand slide beneath his head, lift him up ever so slightly. “There’s broth here. You need to drink it to become well.”

“Should I?”

“That’s a choice you have to make,” Jin answered quietly, and Ryuzo felt the cool press of a spoon against his lips. It was barely a mouthful, but the liquid worked its way past his cracked lips and down his parched throat. “You’re badly injured, but Yuna’s been working her ass off, along with some monks, to get you well again. We weren’t sure if you’d make it. It’s…”

“How bad?”

“You’ve got burns all over. You won’t be dressing like a pretty girl in a kimono any time soon,” Jin joked. The memory rose unbidden of childhood games, and the times Jin and Ryuzo had made off with kimonos and playacted at being maidens. “Your eyes… we’ve got them packed, but they don’t… They didn’t look good.”

“How bad?” Ryuzo repeated, a duller ache forming in his chest. Jin didn’t answer, only ladling more broth between his lips.

“We don’t know yet. But you may be blind, Ryuzo. It didn’t look good.”

Ryuzo turned his head away from Jin, despite the pain. He felt another pair of hands on his face; finer, narrower, lighter than Jin’s. They stroked skin - unburned, pain-free skin - gently, cupped his chin in fingertips.

“You’re a stubborn asshole, and I have to admire that in someone else when it’s all I am. So are you going to fight for this, or are you going to waste all of Jin’s time and prove me right?” The woman again… That must be Yuna.

Ryuzo tried to lick his lips, and heard her chuckle.

“It’s hard to say no to him, isn’t it? He’s a convincing idiot of a samurai.” Her voice took on a slightly softer tone. “We’ll be your eyes as long as you need, Ryuzo. But you’re the only one who can decide if you want to live or not. No amount of medicine is going to do that unless you want it to.”

“When the kami,” he breathed, “gave out sense…”

“I know. You were missing that day.” Jin made a soft noise of amusement. “Come on, then. Yuna’s right - we’ll do everything we can for you.”

“Why?”

There was a moment, and Ryuzo would have given everything to see the room at that moment. Then Yuna spoke.

“Because Jin cares about you. You’re as much of an idiot as he is sometimes. Why else would you be here right now? He cares, and so I care too,” she huffed. “You never said he was this dense, Jin.”

“Why else do you think he’s my friend? He’s just like me. Too stupid to know when to give up.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” came Yuna’s voice, resigned but a little amused. “And now I’m going to be stuck with both of you, I can tell.”

Ryuzo felt another spoonful of soup at his lips, and swallowed it down.

He had a choice.

He would choose to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Floranna for an epic list of tropes and some really good Crueltide prompts. This is my first time writing a fic like this, and you had a great list to work from!
> 
> The title is from a piece of poetry by Sosei:  
> "A regretful  
> Heart with threads  
> Does seem to be entangled;  
> Every single scattered bloom  
> Will I thread on them to keep."


End file.
